


You're Making Me Live

by Captain_Loki



Series: Best Friend [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale flirting with food, Confessions, First Kiss, M/M, Neck Kissing, aziraphale is a tease, neck biting, shy crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: “I hope you know, Crowley, that you’re also my best friend,” Aziraphale says squeezing Crowley’s hand.Crowley makes a scoffing noise that gets caught in his throat but he answers, “yeah. I know, Aziraphale,” voice taking on that embarrassed tone that Aziraphale loves drawing out of the demon.





	You're Making Me Live

It happens over breakfast one morning about a week after they successfully escape their respective head offices. A week of zero Heavenly or Hellish contact. No memos, no calls, no jobs, no demons or angels lurking in corners. A week of the two of them dining out, of unabashedly sitting pressed close together on buses and park benches, a week of barely leaving the comfort of each others’ side.

Now, they’re seated at the dining table in Crowley’s flat. Aziraphale has finished spreading a generous amount of butter onto his waffles and Crowley is watching a cartoon Aziraphale thinks is most certainly meant for children. He never _is_ quite sure if Crowley means it ironically or not. 

Regardless, he’s not paying attention when Aziraphale puts down his utensils. Crowley is slouched over the table staring at the pictures moving on his phone. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale starts. 

“Yea, angel?” Crowley asks, shifting his gaze without hesitation to look at him. His keenness warms Aziraphale and he reaches over and rests one hand atop Crowley’s. Crowley tenses slightly and straightens in his seat as Aziraphale cradles his hand between his own. 

Crowley’s eyes are already wide but he blushes when Aziraphale raises his hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles. 

“I hope you know, Crowley, that you’re also _my_ best friend,” Aziraphale says squeezing Crowley’s hand.

Crowley makes a scoffing noise that gets caught in his throat but he answers, “yeah. I know, Aziraphale,” voice taking on that embarrassed tone that Aziraphale loves drawing out of the demon. 

“And that...” Aziraphale clears his throat, feels his face heat and Crowley is looking at him with interest now. “Well, that I’m _honored _you consider me yours. Most especially after the absolutely dreadful way I treated you.” 

“Yea well, you have time to make it up to me,” Crowley tells him, decidedly ignoring the rest of Aziraphale’s confession. “I saved the world last week.”

“We saved the world,” Aziraphale corrects.

“Now it’s we?” Crowley teases.

“My dear,” Aziraphale sighs, “it’s _always _been we.” He lets out a soft noise of surprise as his chair slides inexplicably closer to Crowley until they collide with a soft bump. 

Crowley doesn’t say anything, stares at the cartoons moving on his screen instead, and Aziraphale smirks. 

“Still can’t believe you thought I’d _actually _go to Alpha Centauri without you,” Crowley huffs, his brows in a scowl. Aziraphale watches his profile. “I-yo--” Crowley sighs dramatically and runs a hand through his hair. He turns to Aziraphale finally and slouches back in his chair, arms crossed. 

“I thought I was going to, too!” Crowley says it accusatory and Aziraphale’s face softens into something that must be sappy because Crowley is giving him another disgruntled look. 

“Right up until you died!” He pokes Aziraphale in the chest. “Oooh, then I knew I was _fucked, _angel, absssolutely _gone _on you_\--”_

_“Crowley_,” Aziraphale interrupts, or tries to. 

“--talk about _flaming swords.” _Aziraphale rolls his eyes and with a snap of his fingers there’s a scone in Crowley’s mouth and Aziraphale pulls his waffles towards himself.

“What the fuck, Aziraphale!” Crowley splutters, crumbs flying, trying to sound angry Aziraphale thinks but he’s laughing. 

“You could have gone on for awhile with increasing incoherence,” Aziraphale says. Crowley doesn’t argue, just shoves the scone into Aziraphale’s accepting mouth. Crowley flushes again as Aziraphale takes a bite and Crowley puts the pastry down on the table like it might go off.

“Rather rude,” Crowley tells him, brushing himself off. “Could have choked.”

“You don’t need to breathe, Crowley,” Aziraphale admonishes. “Besides, what would you rather me have done? Kiss you quiet?” Aziraphale asks, pointedly, also pointedly _not _looking at Crowley, choosing instead to grab the maple syrup across the table.

“Ngk-nh-yes,” Crowley articulates. 

“Noted,” Aziraphale replies, a lot less casually than he would have liked. He glances at Crowley finally before looking quickly away and then maybe back again because Crowley is _smiling _at him that way he does when he’s _pleased, _because of _Aziraphale_. 

It sends the same mix of emotions now as it did 6,000 years ago, a wicked sort of delight he knows must be positively _sinful _for the pride he feels when he elicits the look (and feeling) of love. 

“You could also just--if you wanted--for no reason? I mean just to do it. Just to kiss me,” Crowley offered. 

“Very thoughtful of you,” Aziraphale tells him. 

“That’s me,” Crowley agrees with a decidedly more devious smirk.

“It really is, dear, but you’d never admit it,” Aziraphale says, but before Crowley can retort Aziraphale leans in the last few inches between them and kisses him. Crowley thinks maybe he could handle more _compliments _if they were delivered in this particular way. 

(Which probably he does and gets to sit through Aziraphale explaining to him what a praise kink is somewhere down the line).

Aziraphale pulls back and pops the forkful of waffle he has waiting for him into his mouth with a satisfied look. 

“See?” Crowley says, clearing his throat, “you are _much_ better to find in my mouth.” 

“Hush,” Aziraphale chastises the innuendo. “Besides, if I did anything more, judging by how hard you’re blushing I fear you may discorporate.” 

Aziraphale earns himself another splutter of consonants before Crowley forgoes words and hisses at him lunging like a striking serpent to clamp his teeth around Aziraphale’s neck through the layers of his shirt and bow tie. 

“Am I meant to be afraid, or aroused, dear?” Aziraphale asks, putting his fork down.

“Why, are you? Either?” Crowley asks pulling away and looking up at him.

"Afraid? Most definitely, not, no,” Aziraphale tells him. Crowley sits up, an arm around Aziraphale’s chair. He’s very very close. Crowley is sitting next to him of course, but somehow it still feels like Aziraphale’s being circled like prey. 

“Oh, and...?” Crowley asks, grinning knowingly, just waiting for Aziraphale to actually _say it. _Aziraphale doesn’t. He gazes headily at Crowley, eyes darting between Crowley’s own piercing golden ones and his teasing lips. Then Aziraphale looks away back to his half eaten waffles.

Aziraphale wordlessly loads another forkful, dripping with syrup and butter in a very suggestive way. Crowley watches him, noticing the way Aziraphale’s bow tie has miraculously loosened along with the top buttons of his shirt. 

Crowley is practically in Aziraphale’s lap as his eyes traces the line of Aziraphale’s throat once he takes the bite and swallows. Crowley ducks his head and licks a drip of syrup clinging from Aziraphale’s lips. 

Aziraphale tries to kiss him but Crowley pulls away to bury his head in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, pulling his shirt away until he can finally graze his teeth against Aziraphale’s bare skin. 

When Aziraphale makes a keening noise at the broad wet swipe of Crowley’s tongue Crowley bites down hard against the tendons there, one of his hands landing on high on Aziraphale’s broad thigh. 

“_Crowley_,” Aziraphale sounds wrecked, but surprised and with the edge of uncertainty. Crowley pulls back in horror, mortified.

“Too fast?” Crowley asks, “Too fast,” he nods.

“Crowley--”

“Sorry, angel I...” Crowley waves a hand and Aziraphale’s chair skids across the floor, or it starts to but Aziraphale wraps a hand around Crowley’s arm very nearly tipping Crowley out of the chair to topple onto the floor between them. 

“Oh dear!” Aziraphale huffs a laugh and lets go of Crowley’s arm as he comes to a screeching standstill.

“I-we--I don’t...” Crowley sighs, rolls his eyes before a pair of sunglasses manifests in his hands and he pops them on his face with a sulk. 

“Oh, _Crowley_,” Aziraphale sighs, besotted. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://captain-snark.tumblr.com/)


End file.
